


Reflection

by October_rust



Category: Batman (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Angst, Costume Kink, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Minor Knifeplay, PWP, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 06:30:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12293259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/October_rust/pseuds/October_rust
Summary: One night, Jason dresses up as Nightwing and pays Bruce a visit.





	Reflection

Bruce wakes up with a start when a heavy weight settles on his hips.

The moon is shining just outside the bedroom's window, and it's bright enough that he can clearly see the silhouette of a man leaning over him. The man is clad in a tight black uniform, and the sleek, bird-like symbol is spanning the chest and the shoulders in a vivid splash of blue. 

“Dick?” Bruce asks, confused, his mind still sluggish from sleep.

The man just smiles at Bruce, his grin razor-sharp, and the white lenses of his mask shield his gaze, giving nothing away. 

“Wrong answer,” he says, voice deep and slightly hoarse. “Not that I expected any different from you. It's always all about Goldie for you, isn't it?”

Jason.

Of course.

Bruce berates himself for not noticing the obvious tells immediately. Jason's shoulders are broader than Dick's, his musculature much more defined, and his features are more rugged, though no less handsome than Dick's. 

But when he's perched atop Bruce like that, his face half hidden by the shadows and the domino mask, Bruce can almost mistake him for Nightwing.

Can almost – 

Jason shakes his head, his grin getting wider, knowing, as he follows the direction of Bruce's gaze.

“So now you're playing spot the difference – Dick or Dick's replacement – right?” Jason asks, still cruel, still mocking. “The Golden Boy, the beloved one, and his imperfect, damaged copy.”

Bruce stays silent, keeps his expression impassive. His heart is thudding in his chest, a wild beat filled with a mixture of fear and hope. Jason has come back to him. After all that has happened, Jason has chosen to come back here, to the manor, to him.

And Jason's still dangerous, still on his quest for revenge, still burning with the Pit's madness.

So Bruce reins it in, stomps out that surge of irrational emotions, and instead fixes Jason with a glare.

“What are you doing here, Jason?” he asks. “If you did something to Dick – “

“There it is again,” Jason cuts in and sighs, exasperated. “No, I didn't do anything to your precious Goldie, just borrowed his spare suit. That's all.”

Bruce makes to push himself up, opens his mouth to ask more questions, but there's a flash of silver, and he freezes when the flat side of a knife presses against his lips.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Jason says, and Bruce looks up at him, alarmed, the cool touch of the metal effectively trapping all the words inside. “What's the hurry, Bruce? Can't we just have a nice little chat, you and me?”

The blade slides into the dip of Bruce's chin, then lower still, to the underside of his jaw. Unhurried, it continues its journey, tracing Bruce's throat, circling his Adam's apple, before coming to rest in the hollow between his collarbones. There, the tip pokes at the sensitive skin, and Bruce gasps, as he feels the bite of steel, and the blood starts beading at the shallow cut.

“Yeah,” Jason says, and there's a faint hint of amusement in his tone. He brings the knife to Bruce's naked chest. “Just a little chat.”

The blade caresses the pectoral muscle, skirts the edge of the nipple that immediately pebbles up, the sensation shooting up through the nerve endings like an electric current. But the knife doesn't stop, scraping over skin, leaving a thin red line in its wake. The ridges of Bruce's abdomen tense up, bunching into tight knots, as the knife moves over them, smooth. 

Finally, the knife pauses, catching on the fabric of the sheets that are pooling low around Bruce's waist.

Jason stares at the blade, at the narrow trail of dark, coarse hair below Bruce's navel. Without warning, he shifts his hips, rolling them against Bruce's in a slow, deliberate way. Bruce bites his lip, swallowing; his cock starts to fill, blood pumping through it, as Jason rises and falls above him, the movements torturous, teasing. 

Jason's eyebrow lifts above the edge of his mask in a mock outrage. 

“Well, well, well,” he says, his hips stilling. “That's just sick, Bruce.”

He leans forward, and the knife is suddenly back at Bruce's throat. “But I'm not surprised that you're getting off on this, you old freak. It's the suit, right?” Jason's breath ghosts over Bruce's lips. “You're thinking about him.”

“No,” Bruce grits out, and he hates himself for the tremor in his voice, for the lack of his usual control.

“No?” Jason sneers. “Because your cock seems to disagree. Not that I blame you, you know. Dick's one fantastic piece of ass.”

And this makes Bruce see red, the strange spell keeping him still finally broken. His hand shoots out, grabs Jason's wrist, twists it to the side. It's so unexpected that Jason actually drops the knife, and then it's just one more pull, one more harsh yank, and their bodies are colliding together with a bruising force. 

Jason recovers quickly; with an oath, he digs his elbow into Bruce's side, tries to land another punch. It's fast and vicious, but Bruce blocks the jab, uses the momentum, the chaos, to flip them over. 

But even with this advantage, it's almost impossible to hold Jason down. He fights Bruce all the way, cursing, thrashing under him, his powerful body straining against Bruce's, his thighs tensing to buck Bruce's weight off.

Finally, Bruce manages to trap Jason's left hand under his knee, and pin the other one above Jason's head. Cold fury is still coursing through him, as grabs at Jason's mask, and rips it off, revealing those striking blue eyes, now full of fire and challenge. 

“Go on, Bruce,” Jason rasps, his chest heaving with harsh breaths. “Take that fucking knife and finish the job.”

He arches his throat, and Bruce's gaze falls to it. All at once, Bruce's anger turns to horror, as he understands what Jason means, as he sees the edge of a faint white scar that even the collar of the Nightwing suit cannot fully cover.

“Oh, yeah,” Jason sneers. “You left me with that little thing to remember you by. You know, from that night when you chose the Joker over me. When you threw the batarang at me and almost killed me to save him.”

“Jason ...” But it feels so empty, so futile. Bruce tries again, desperate. “I didn't mean for that to happen. I didn't ...”

He backs away from Jason, letting his grip slacken. The shame, the guilt are crushing him, and he hangs his head, closes his eyes. “Forgive me. I ...”

“You coward,” Jason says, his voice full of contempt. “You cannot even look at me. But I'm not going to let you hide away from me like that. Not anymore.”

And in an instant Jason's fist is in Bruce's hair, gripping at the short strands. Pain snaps through Bruce's neck at the abrupt tug that brings him face to face with Jason, Jason's fingers holding him firm, not giving him even an inch of freedom.

For one, tense moment, Jason simply stares at Bruce. 

The silence grows thicker then, brimming with anticipation, and Jason narrows his eyes. Something dark and hungry flashes in their depths, and it's the only warning before his mouth descends on Bruce's.

It's like another punch, bruising and painful, and Bruce draws in a sharp breath as Jason's teeth sink into his lower lip, tearing it open. But it's not enough, and Jason pulls him closer still, his fingers clenching even more in Bruce's hair, his knuckles digging into Bruce's skull.

“Kiss me back,” Jason growls at him. 

And Bruce does, opening his mouth, tasting his own blood. Jason takes everything that Bruce gives him, swallowing the involuntary noise that escapes Bruce, pushing inside with his tongue, deepening it all to the point where it becomes impossible to think, to feel anything but that punishing clash of lips and teeth. 

So all-consuming, the sensations blurring together, that Bruce barely registers Jason's hand at his shoulder, shoving him down, onto the rumpled sheets. He gasps into Jason's mouth when he feels Jason's body pinning him down, keeping him captive. 

Jason smiles at Bruce's reaction, and moves his hand to Bruce's chest. The fingers dig into the meat of the muscle, giving it a brief, hard squeeze, before sliding lower. They spread over Bruce's skin, possessive, tracing down old scars and the fresh lines left by Jason's knife.

“Hate you,” Jason hisses against Bruce's lips, just as his fist closes around Bruce's cock.

He sets a fast, unforgiving pace, stroking the shaft, rolling the foreskin from the flared head, teasing the slit, already wet with precome. Bruce thrusts his hips up, helpless, straight into the snug circle of Jason's fingers, a raw, urgent need taking over his pride, his shame. He's already close, his breathing ragged, heat prickling at the base of his spine.

Jason knows it, of course, and just jerks his hand faster, grips Bruce's cock tighter. The heat boils over, molten-white, seizing Bruce, blurring his vision, and suddenly he's coming all over Jason's palm, a tortured groan tearing from his throat.

Jason watches him through it all, his expression inscrutable. Then he brings his stained fingers to Bruce's lips.

“Suck,” he orders, voice low.

Bruce opens his lips, licks at the fabric, tries not to think about the blue fingerstripes, about what he's doing. The bitterness mingles with the coppery tang of blood, and he swallows it all down.

Jason laughs, incredulous, but immediately draws back, when Bruce tries to reach for him.

“Oh, no,” he says, getting up and bending down to pick up the discarded mask and knife. “That's not how we're playing, Bruce.”

He fixes the mask, opens the window.

“Thanks for the quickie, daddy.”

And like that he's gone, the black suit blending in with the darkness of the night. 

Bruce throws his arm over his eyes, feels the burning sting of tears.


End file.
